Kia ora koutou,

Its a great drying day here in Otaki today. I was hanging out the washing this morning and thinking about how long I’be been doing this and how the act of hanging out washing and washing lines has changed and been modified over the years. Almost a history of the times in itself.

First there was a the long wire line across the backyard, held up by wooden props, long poles with a V in the top so it would catch on the line. The props would get greyer and greyer as they stood outside in all weathers and the lines got gradually easier to reach as I grew a little taller. You carried the washing out in buckets, having first washed it in a wooden tub and, if it was sheets, tea towels, pillow slips, towels,face cloths, boiled in the copper. A risky business as you caught the clothes in the copper on a wooden pole and transferred them to a tub of col water to be fed through the wringer. Very difficult not to get a few boiling drops on your arms and hands.

Then there was the bucket of grisly sanitary towels which you had to soak in a bucket of cold water and put a top over it so your brother wouldn’t see them – well, those were the days.

Then came nappies and daily washing but the sight of a long line of white nappies flapping in the sun and the smell of sun on them when you brought them in and folded them was always a bonus. Along came the square lines that meant you could stand in the one place and just push the line around. We used indoor lines in the wash house (now called the laundry), or, when it was raining, strung a line across a verandah. Then along came electric washing machines and dryers. The first time I ever said fuck was when the washing machine overflowed yet again. I think I said this in my memoir but it bears repeating – its such a clever solution – my friend down the road had a brilliant idea of just sawing a hole in the floor so the water ran out onto the ground below. I thought this was great but I didn’t quite have the guts to do it myself. Now of course the water is controlled by the machine itself and all you have to do is set it at the level you want.

Pegs too, have changed. Those old wooden ones that leaked a stain onto the washing if they weren’t properly dry. If they’d got wet from the rain you aid them out on the verandah untiltyey were bone dry again. Then eventually along came plastic spring pegs and no worries if they got wet.

There’s a whole history waiting to be written about washing but not by me. I’m just going to enjoy the sun and the memories.

Renée